


Punishment

by fuzipenguin



Series: Give and Take [7]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Rope Bondage, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, asphyxiation play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4287675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denial is a compromise which Jazz enjoys and Optimus has doubts about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punishment

                “You were bad today.”

                Jazz’s head dipped as he frowned. “Yes, sir. I know.”

                He shifted atop Optimus’ lap, denta worrying his lower lip. Optimus reached out and traced that swelling lipplate with a gentle finger. “Are you not even going to tell me you’re sorry?”

                Visor brightening, Jazz’s head whipped back up. “Of course, sir, yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir,” he babbled.

                Optimus let his finger trail down to Jazz’s chin and then the line of his throat before Optimus’ whole hand wrapped around Jazz’s neck. He squeezed gently, always so surprised by how much larger he was than his lover.

                “I do not believe you,” Optimus said softly, squeezing again, harder, and forcing a gasp past Jazz’s lips. Sideswipe had said more often than not, the _potential_ of pain was enough to motivate a submissive. Optimus hoped it was true; Jazz was not Sunstreaker.

                “Please! Please, sir! Let me prove it up to you!” Jazz pleaded earnestly, squirming in his sideways perch across Optimus’ thighs. And, oh, that was certainly very nice indeed.

                “I’m not sure you will be able to,” Optimus proclaimed sadly, ever so slightly tilting his pelvis upwards. Sideswipe had also emphasized the use of nonverbal cues to help direct Jazz’s responses, especially since Jazz didn’t seem very interested in detailing their sessions ahead of time and Optimus was still learning to do so.

                Jazz brightened and sinuously wiggled his aft above Optimus’ slowly heating interface panel. He had to admit that he liked the lithe saboteur lounging in his lap. It certainly brought back memories of their first session. “I have an idea or two,” Jazz purred. “Will you let me try, sir?”

                Optimus abruptly spread his legs, and using his grip on Jazz’s throat, he reinforced the other mech’s fall to the floor. Jazz landed on his aft with a surprised ‘oof!’, looking up at Optimus with an expression of betrayal.

                “I, too, have a few notions.” Optimus recessed his interface cover as he released Jazz’s neck with a forceful shove. “You can prove you are sorry by giving me an overload. Would you like that?”

                “Yes, sir, I would like that very much, sir,” Jazz replied, his gaze unerringly drawn to Optimus’ fully pressurized spike. The look of betrayal quickly morphed into one of avarice.

                “Well? What are you waiting for! Put that mouth of yours to work,” Optimus instructed, sliding down and forward so his aft hung over the edge of the chair.  He beckoned his lover closer, spark thumping as Jazz subconsciously licked his lips.

                “Yes, sir!” Jazz murmured, scrambling to his knees. He reached out to place his hands on Optimus’ inner thighs, but Optimus jerked his legs wider, out of Jazz’s grasp. Jazz looked up at him in question, hands hovering uncertainly in the air.

                “I said your mouth,” Optimus commanded, his voice stern. “I don’t want your dirty hands touching me. In fact, put them behind your back. Yes, that’s it. Keep them there. Now get over here.”

                Optimus leaned forward and grabbed the back of Jazz’s helm, roughly pulling him against Optimus’ array as he slouched backwards against the chair back. “Lick… suck. If you make me overload, you will get a reward. If you don’t…” Optimus trailed off meaningfully.

                Another thing Sideswipe had taught him… let the sub fill in the blanks. Their own imagination would come up with punishments far worse than what they would likely receive.

                Jazz nosed against the underside of Optimus’ spike, glossa extended, but Optimus pushed Jazz’s head farther down. “No. That’s not for you; you’re not good enough. There. I want your mouth there.”

                Despite the rough handling, Jazz let himself be manhandled into position, glossa licking a hot line up the center of Optimus’ valve. He bit off a groan at the pleasurable sensation, locking his joints down instead of thrusting against that burst of wet heat like he so desperately wanted.

                This session was about denial for Jazz; Optimus couldn’t let himself lose sight of his objectives.

                “More,” Optimus instructed, stroking up one of Jazz’s audial horns and pinching the tip. Jazz jerked against him, moaning a little before attacking Optimus’ valve with a vengeance. He nibbled at the anterior node, thrust his glossa in deep to massage the sensors just under the rim, and slurped up the lubricant already pooling in the floor of Optimus’ valve. 

                Optimus schooled his expression into one of disinterest, pretending to stroke his spike, but actually squeezing it now and then to stave off climax. Jazz was incredibly good with his mouth, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide how much the smaller mech was arousing him.

                After just a few minutes, Optimus heaved a large sigh and placed a palm on his lover’s forehelm, pushing Jazz away. Reeling a little from lust, Optimue overestimated the amount of strength behind the shove and Jazz went sprawling with an unhappy whine.

                “Sir! I thought I was to pleasure you!”

                Optimus forced himself upright, sneering down at his lover. It wasn’t a normal expression he ever gave to his soldiers much less to Jazz. It helped to imagine he was facing off against Megatron; it made the anger and derision easier to come by.

                “Is that what you called it? I have places to be and you were taking too long… I’m not so sure you could even _make_ me overload based on that performance. Pitiful,” Optimus scoffed. “And what do you think are you doing?”

                Jazz froze in the act of pushing himself to a seated position. “Sir?”

                “I thought I told you to keep your hands behind your back,” Optimus said mildly, standing. Optimus didn’t know how he could be intimidating with lubricant running down his inner thighs, but he must have managed; Jazz flinched backwards, helm dipping in subservience.

                “I… uh… sorry?” he offered with a hesitant smile, peeking upwards.

                In answer, Optimus took a step forward and slapped Jazz across the face. He fell backwards onto the floor, head twisted to the side. Optimus straddled Jazz’s chest, staring down at him with his hands propped on his hips. Primus, Jazz really was ridiculously small, Optimus observed absently.

                “You offer me apologies again and again, but I do not believe their sincerity,” Optimus scolded. “Get up! On your knees. And keep your arms in position.”

                Optimus stepped to the side and Jazz’s visor flickered once before he sluggishly shifted on the floor. He turned to his side and pulled his arms up behind his back, holding onto his own wrists. Displaying a surprising amount of grace, Jazz rocked upwards and to his knees within moments.

                “I’m sorry, I really a…ahh!”

Optimus slapped him again, Jazz swaying with the blow until Optimus shot out a hand and steadied him. When Jazz looked up, a trickle of energon was making its way down his chin from a split lip.

                “You… you give me no respect. You must call me ‘sir’,” Optimus said in weak reprimand, vocalizer spitting static. He hadn’t thought the slap had been _that_ forceful. Jazz had asked for a little more roughness this time around, but Optimus hadn’t intended to ever harm Jazz beyond sore plating from a light smack.

                Jazz pursed his lipplates together, wincing, before bravely raising his head. Sometime during the last few moments, Jazz’s array had been bared and pre-transfluid streaked his lower belly from the straining spike that brushed against it.

                “Yes, sir. I sincerely apologize, sir.”

                Optimus tilted his head in the direction of Jazz’s pelvis, relieved to see Jazz apparently enjoying the rougher treatment. “If you cannot pleasure _me_ , what makes you think you deserve any pleasure yourself?”

                “I tried, sir…”

                “Yes, and you could not finish the job. So I think I will let you see what it’s like. Follow me. On your knees,” Optimus commanded. He strode around his desk and past it, heading into his personal quarters. From behind him, he heard the scrape of metal moving across a hard surface.        

                It would take Jazz at least a minute to make his way across the floor on his knees. So Optimus took a few seconds to just ventilate, bending forward and grasping the edge of his berth with shaking fingers. His processor whirled madly; the persistent ache in his groin barely abating despite the anger at himself for drawing energon. What did that say about him?

                Well, there was no point in ending the session. Jazz would say he hadn’t been truly hurt. Nor had he; it was only a minor wound and Jazz had allowed for such things, even going so far as to encourage them. But now Optimus was starting to regret his agreement of that particular detail. Especially if he felt like this after so small an injury.

                “Sir?”

                Optimus whirled around, caught off guard by his lover’s approach. How he had missed the noise of Jazz’s slow progress, Optimus would never know. Judging by the streaks on the floor, Jazz likely didn’t have much paint left on his knees.

                Jazz’s head was tilted to the side, an uncertain look on his faceplates. Jazz needed this, Optimus reminded himself. And Jazz trusted Optimus to give this to him.    

                Optimus took a step forward, looming over his partner. His optics raked over Jazz dismissively and then he snorted, turning his back on him. That was difficult; Jazz was bleeding and scrapped up and Optimus would rather have tugged him into his arms instead of what he was about to do next.

                 Jazz _needed_ this.

                “Took you long enough,” Optimus scoffed, reaching for one of the items he had laid out on the berth. The thin rope felt silky smooth in his hands, and Optimus tugged at it experimentally as he turned around. Sideswipe had sworn the specially designed substance had held Sunstreaker in the past, so surely it would do for Jazz.

                “I don’t trust you not to use your arms as soon as I step out of the room,” Optimus commented, kneeling behind Jazz.

                He tugged Jazz’s arms up a little higher and then began binding them in place with the rope. Not only did he tie Jazz’s hands to his own forearms, but Optimus also wound the rope around Jazz’s torso, preventing Jazz from moving his shoulders at all.

                As Optimus began trussing Jazz up, his lover began making breathy, little whimpering sounds. He never once moved, but his energy field wavered with disquiet and Optimus almost stopped more than once at the distressing noises.

                Jazz didn’t enjoy feeling helpless like this, Optimus knew. Or at least that was what Sideswipe had said. Nevertheless, Jazz had asked for this particular detail, wanting to push his own limits. Jazz hadn’t desired many specifics so Optimus had felt obligated to agree to the few things Jazz had really wanted.

                Despite the unease the rope provoked, Jazz’s spike was still mostly pressurized when Optimus slid a hand down the saboteur’s front after finally knotting the rope. The heated length twitched in Optimus’ grip and began firming even more, already slick with pre-transfluid.

                “I do not trust you with this either,” Optimus commented. “I remember what happened last time. Stay there.”

                He stood and grabbed for the shiny, silver ring lying innocuously on the berth. Optimus returned to Jazz’s side and bent over, sliding the ring down Jazz’s spike. Once it snugged up against the base, Optimus flicked the tiny switch which would magnetize the device. The ring vibrated once before tightening down, prompting Jazz to moan and thrust his hips forward. The toy would keep Jazz hard, but prevent charge from collecting into an overload.

                “Sir…!”

                “One more. Spread your legs a bit.”

                Final toy in hand, Optimus kneeled in front of Jazz, holding up a thick, fake spike for him to see.

                Optimus reached between Jazz’s thighs, two fingers easily sliding into the well lubricated valve. He pumped his digits in and out of the spasming channel several times before removing them and sliding his slicked fingers across the dildo, smearing the wetness around its head. Carefully, he placed the toy at Jazz’s entrance and slowly pushed it up into Jazz’s body.

                Jazz shuddered as the dildo breached him, droplets of lubricant displaced by the toy dripping onto Optimus’ hand. He exerted a steady pressure upwards until the base of the toy butted against Jazz’s rim. The spike itself was a softer molded plastic, but the base was metal and could also be magnetized. Optimus set the toy in place and flicked on its lowest setting, making Jazz’s hips jerk.

                “There,” Optimus announced, taking a step back and wiping his hands down.

                As he watched, Jazz’s visor dimmed and his head tilted slowly backwards, ventilations deepening. He swayed in place, pelvis gently rocking forwards and back as the vibrator hummed quietly.

                “Well. I’m going to wash up; I have a meeting with Prowl and Ironhide in a few breems. I suppose I will have to finish what you couldn’t,” Optimus said, stroking a hand down his own spike.

                Jazz’s head rose, and he licked his lips when he saw Optimus slowly pleasuring himself. “Please let me try again, sir…”

                “No. You had your chance. Now you will sit there and know what it feels like to be teased,” Optimus announced.

                “How long, sir?” Jazz asked, hips swiveling restlessly.

                “For as long as I decide,” Optimus answered flippantly, walking towards the washracks. Doing his best to ignore Jazz’s pout, he crammed himself inside the small cubicle, instigating the water flow. The personal ‘rack was much appreciated, although Optimus oftentimes preferred the communal showers as this one was a touch small for a mech of his size.  

                Nevertheless, if he moved slowly, he could manage a wash without banging his elbows too frequently on the sides of the shower.

                Optimus let the water sluice over him for a minute before dropping a hand to his spike. Here, away from Jazz’s bound form, it was easier to think of other things. He offlined his optics and remembered Jazz’s clever glossa spearing into Optimus’ aching valve. With a small moan, Optimus slid his other hand further down his pelvis and teasingly circled his recessed anterior node.

                It didn’t take long before he was spilling into his own palm. He was not a screamer by any stretch of the imagination, but he made an effort to moan louder than normal so Jazz could hear him achieving completion over the sound of the shower.

                Once done, he leaned his forehelm against the washrack wall, and ventilated heavily as he tried to organize his thoughts. Jazz had wanted all of this; in fact, he had wanted more than Optimus had been willing to give. Jazz was not hurt; in fact, he was enjoying every minute of the session, judging by his body’s reactions. Optimus suspected Jazz wasn’t quite into subspace yet, but Optimus thought it would be soon. The pleasure was a means to an end; the peace subspace gave Jazz was the goal. Everything done to accomplish that was the least Optimus could do for sending someone he loved behind enemy lines again and again. 

                Resolve more firmly in place, Optimus shut the washrack down, shaking the excess droplets of water from his arms. He stepped into his quarters to dry off, Jazz’s helm snapping up to avidly stare as Optimus ran the cloth over his limbs and torso.

                “Mmm, that was a nice wash,” Optimus commented idly, hanging his towel up to dry. “How are you doing over there?” he asked, walking over to stare down at Jazz.

                “Good, sir,” Jazz replied softly, pelvis still rocking. Optimus’ sensors registered a slight increase of temperature in the room, some of which could be attributed to the steam from the washrack. However, this close to his partner, he could tell Jazz’s frame was heating up from rising charge.

                “I will be gone for several hours,” Optimus informed Jazz, stroking a hand down his faceplates. Jazz leaned into the touch with a wordless murmur, optics dimming. “You are not to overload while I am gone; your spike cannot, but you could through your valve. Nevertheless, you do not have permission to do so. Do you understand?”

                “Yes, sir,” Jazz replied, nuzzling Optimus’ hand, going so far as to press a kiss to the palm.

                “Good. While I am gone, you will be able to contact me over my private line in case you require assistance.”

                Optimus knelt in front of Jazz, tugging on his arms and then confirming the placement of both spike vibrator. Jazz arched into Optimus’ hands, wordlessly begging for more touches. Reluctantly, Optimus stood and moved away, picking up several data pads from the berthside table and subspacing them.

                “I will see you soon. If you behave yourself, I may reassess your punishment when I get back.”

                And he forced himself to leave, walking into his office and then the hall towards the conference room off the bridge.

\--

                He had meant to be gone for at least three hours, but Optimus’ meeting finished up rather quickly. Or at least if did for a meeting with Prowl. Left with no other obligations until the end of the day, Optimus headed back to his room to check on Jazz. Barely an hour had passed, so he was interested to see how his lover was doing. Jazz often had more energy and stamina than Optimus knew what to do with, so he fully anticipated walking in to see Jazz smiling up at him with a flirty glint to his visor.

                Instead, Optimus entered his office and heard whimpering, a mournful sound that tugged on Optimus’s spark. He walked quietly, but hurried his stride towards his quarters, opening the door to peer in.

                Jazz was in the exact same spot Optimus had left him in, although his position had changed. Instead of kneeling upright, Jazz had spread his thighs and leaned over to rest his forehelm against the floor. His aft was upturned invitingly and a veritable puddle of fluids lay beneath him, valve dripping steadily.

                As he watched, Jazz’s hips swiveled, the rim of his valve rippling around the fake spike penetrating it. Another whimper echoed in the room, muffled from against the floor.

                Optimus was suddenly glad he had returned when he had. He didn’t know if it was the scene itself or the low level humming of the vibrator, but Jazz appeared to be quite worked up. As Optimus walked closer, he could feel waves of heat pouring off his lover, his HUD telling him the room’s temperature had risen two degrees since he had left.

                He walked forward, quietly shutting and relocking the door behind him. Jazz didn’t stir until Optimus crouched next to him and placed a hand on Jazz’s lower back.

                “Jazz. How are you doing?” Optimus asked softly, his fingertips instantly warmed by Jazz’s heated plating.

                Jazz’s whine cut off and he shifted in place, head turning to the side. His visor was completely dark and his mouth worked for several moments before finally producing sounds.

                “Sir?” he asked, vocalizer crackling around the edges of the word.

                “Yes, Jazz. It’s me. Can you sit up?”

                “Sir? You came back,” Jazz replied, sounding both surprised and relieved. He struggled to push himself upright, all of his earlier grace leaving him as his knees slipped in his own fluids.

                “Of course I came back,” Optimus replied, brow furrowing at Jazz’s response. What an odd thing to say.

                He reached out and slipped a hand beneath Jazz’s crossed arms, simply lifting his lover up and out of the mess on the floor. Jazz struggled briefly at the sudden motion, his faceplates twisting in a brief flare of distress before his knees met the ground again. “I told you I would return in a few hours, and it’s barely been one.”

                Optimus knelt beside Jazz, checking the ring on his quivering spike. As he did so, he realized Jazz was trembling and Optimus was surprised when Jazz leaned into him, blindly nuzzling against his plating.

                “You came back,” Jazz murmured, the words nearly unintelligible as his lips moved against Optimus’ arm. “Please, sir. Please…”

                “What is it you want, Jazz?” Optimus asked, cupping the back of Jazz’s helm. He was a little disconcerted to see Jazz so overwhelmed, but then again, he had been reeling quite a bit during the spanking as well. When Jazz finally descended into subspace, he seemed to give himself over to it fully.

                “You, sir, please,” Jazz mumbled, squirming and pressing closer.

                “You want an overload?” Optimus asked, soothing a hand along Jazz’s side.

                Jazz shook his head and then nodded, a confused whine emerging from him. “Whatever you want me to do, sir. Please… you, sir,” he repeated, sighing a little at Optimus’ touch.

                Optimus frowned behind his face guard. He wasn’t quite certain what exactly Jazz was referring to. Did he need something specific from Optimus? He suddenly understood why Sideswipe planned so extensively for his sessions with his twin.

                He reached between Jazz’s legs, demagnetizing the dildo and sliding it out. A gush of lubricant followed, drenching Optimus’ fingers and he shook them to get the excess off. The spike ring was also removed, Jazz arching forward with a relieved gasp.

                “Thank you, sir,” Jazz said, visor finally lighting up. “I didn’t overload, sir.”

                “I know. I’m very proud of you,” Optimus replied, encircling Jazz’s body with both arms and hugging him gently. “But your punishment still stands since it hasn’t been the fully allotted time. And you made quite the mess on the floor.”

                “Shall I lick it up, sir?” Jazz offered immediately, looking up into Optimus’ face. His mouth was a little slack, expression almost vacant as his cooling fans whirled away. Lubricant still trickled down his thighs, spike standing at attention at their apex.

                It was difficult for Optimus not to reach between Jazz’s legs and pump several fingers into that wet valve, bring his lover to completion. But Jazz had wanted to be punished and the compromise of denial instead of a more physical reprimand had been eagerly accepted.

                “Yes. All of it,” Optimus agreed, reluctantly withdrawing from Jazz. “Then join me on the berth.”

                He stood and walked to the bed, sitting down on it and nonchalantly pulling out a data pad to peruse. He only pretended to read its contents, of course. The majority of Optimus’ attention was centered on Jazz as he laboriously moved closer to the puddle of fluids on the floor, bending over and assuming a position similar to the one he had been in when Optimus had first entered the room.

                Jazz’s glossa emerged from between his lips and he slowly began lapping up the mess. Every now and then Jazz’s helm would tilt up a fraction, looking at Optimus almost questioningly. After the third time, Optimus lowered his data pad and openly watched Jazz’s progress.

                “You’re doing quite well,” Optimus praised. “The floor is looking good.”

                “Thank you, sir,” Jazz murmured, resuming his licking with a renewed vigor. His cooling fans were beginning to slow, his spike depressurizing a small bit. His thighs were still wet, but much of the tension resulting from the pent up charge had dispersed.

                The final droplet of lubricant disappeared onto Jazz’s glossa and he straightened. He swayed a bit before moving towards the bed, knees scraping against the floor with every shuffle. Jazz arrived at Optimus’ knee, and the visored helm tilted to the side as he considered the berth.

                Carefully, Jazz brought one knee forward, pede firmly planted on the floor. With a grunt, the saboteur swung forward and dragged his other leg up beneath him. A moment later, he was standing, looking quite pleased with himself.

                Optimus reached out to encircle Jazz’s waist with his hands, thumbs caressing Jazz’s lower belly. Jazz’s visor dimmed, and he hummed in pleasure, leaning towards Optimus.

                “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” Jazz inquired.

                “Not at the moment. I think we are done for the day. You did wonderfully, Jazz.” Optimus gently nudged around Jazz until he was facing the office door and began to work on the knot which held the rope in place.

                “Thank you, sir.”

“The session is over now, Jazz,” Optimus said gently. “How are you feeling?”

                There was silence for a long moment before Jazz answered him, voice a low croak. “Good. My head’s all quiet. On the other hand… I could use an overload or twelve.”

                Optimus ghosted a hand over Jazz’s aft. “Would you like me to…”

                Jazz subtly twitched his hips to the side. “Naw. Not right now; maybe later. Just tired, more ‘n anything.”

                “All right. Let me get you out of these ropes and we can lie down. Coolant as well, perhaps? You were putting off a lot of heat,” Optimus observed.

                Jazz nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great. You know, the ropes weren’t as bad as I thought.”

                “You could still move around in them,” Optimus said. “A little awkward, but if anyone could figure out a way to navigate while handicapped, you could.”

                “Flatterer,” Jazz joked. He lifted up a knee, head bending to look at it. “Gonna need a repaint though. Ow.”

                Optimus froze, the last of the rope slithering away from Jazz’s arms. “Are you alright?” he demanded, alarmed.

                “Pinched a line, I think,” Jazz said, turning around and slowly straightening his left arm downwards with a grimace. The right was already being put through a normal range of motions, albeit slowly.

                “Were they too tight?” Optimus asked, hands hovering. Oh Primus. Had he hurt him again?

                “Don’t think so,” Jazz said absently, gently prodding his left shoulder joint. “This arm was on top, so the angle was slightly different than the other. I’ll rest it; I’m sure it’ll be right as rain in a few hours.”

                “What an interesting turn of phrase,” Optimus remarked, frowning at Jazz’s shoulder. His optics caught the now dried smear of energon on Jazz’s chin from his split lower lip and Optimus firmly squashed down his doubts.

                Jazz shrugged his good shoulder, stepping in between Optimus’ legs. “Don’t even think the humans know how it came about. Stop looking so worried, Opt. I’m fine.”

                Optimus reached up and gently touched Jazz’s lipplate. “I did not mean to hit you this hard.”

                A salacious grin flashed across Jazz’s face. “I deserved it. And it was hot as the Pit when you stood over me like that.”

                “Yes, but I could have… oh…”

                Jazz leaned forward, pressing his lips against Optimus’. Their mouth slotted together and the tip of Jazz’s glossa gently swiped along the seam of Optimus’ lipplates. Before the kiss could deepen, Jazz moved backwards, visor bright.

                “You did great, Opt. Really. I asked for a little more roughness and I know it’s hard for you, but everything was perfect.”

                “Is there anything you would have changed?” Optimus inquired, the feel of Jazz’s mouth on his lingering. He could taste the faintest hint of energon on his lips.

                A flash of… something… crossed Jazz’s faceplates. Optimus couldn’t quite discern the emotion behind the expression. “I… uh… I know you had planned on leaving for a while, but uh… maybe not for several hours? If we do this scene again?”

                “Was the hour too long?”

                Jazz’s lipplates pursed in thought. “No… not really,” he finally said. “I guess no longer than that. If that’s ok?”

                “Of course. You did get quite heated. Too much longer at that temperature and I would be worried about some more delicate circuits,” Optimus remarked, sliding a hand up and down Jazz’s back. His lover briefly pressed up into the touch before abruptly climbing into Optimus’ lap and winding arms and legs around Optimus’ torso.  

                “Yup. And you feel all kinds of cool. Skip the coolant; you’re all I need,” Jazz chirped, rubbing his face against Optimus’ chestplate and sighing.

                Optimus chuckled, patting Jazz’s back. His hands slid down to grab hold of the back of Jazz’s thighs to hold him in place as Optimus scooted backwards across the berth, swinging his legs up and straightening them. He laid down on his back, allowing Jazz to sprawl atop him.

                The overloads were certainly fun, but this was Optimus’ favorite part. He quite enjoyed the feel of Jazz in his arms, the purr of his engine vibrating through Optimus’ frame. It was a treasured moment of quiet in an otherwise turbulent time.

                “What did you like the most?” Optimus inquired, arranging Jazz’s limbs so all of his plating touched Optimus’. His armor was already leeching away some of the warmth of Jazz’s.

                “Mmmm. My brain’s all fuzzy right now. Can we do this later?” Jazz murmured, seeming intent on melting into Optimus’ chest.

                “We did that last time, and it did not go so well for you. I have to leave again in a few more hours,” Optimus said, frowning. He didn’t want to make the same mistakes as last time.

                There was a moment of silence before Jazz ex-vented heavily. “All right. I think if I end up at the twins’ door one more time, Sunbeam’s gonna go for my throat,” Jazz muttered. He squirmed around until he managed to slide farther down Optimus’ body. He crossed his arms across Optimus’ chest and then propped his chin atop his forearms. Optimus drug himself up the bed a little more as well, propping his helm on the pillows there so he didn’t have to crane his neck to see Jazz.

                “I thought Sunstreaker was helping as well,” Optimus commented, his brow furrowing. The frontliner had certainly put quite a bit of effort into Optimus’ wash and wax before their last session.

                “Yeah, he is. But he’s not a fan of me monopolizing Sideswipe’s attention,” Jazz explained.

                Optimus’ hand landed on Jazz’s lower back and he stroked little circles into the plating there. It was so very difficult to stop himself from touching his lover when he was within arm’s length. Sometimes he wondered how he ever got so lucky. “That is understandable. They have a unique dynamic.”

                Jazz shrugged, still one armed. “Anyway. I thought you wanted to talk about me,” he said with a flirty grin.

                “I do. What did you like the most about the session?” Optimus repeated, happy they were back on track.

                Jazz tilted his head to the side, looking thoughtful. “I liked it all, really. Making me crawl on my knees was a nice touch. And lappin’ up my own juices.”

                “Why?”

                Optimus got the distinct impression Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor. “You’ve been spending too much time with Siders. Hmmm… maybe because they were both orders I really had to work at? Wasn’t easy to ‘walk’ in here. Or bend over and lick at the floor all trussed up like that.”

                “You like menial tasks,” Optimus stated, remembering the recorded conversation between Sideswipe and Jazz.

                “Yeah, guess I do. Like the praise if I do a good job too. Broke my spark a little when you said it took me long enough to get in here,” Jazz muttered, turning his head to the side slightly. “Knew it was part of the scene and all… no, Opt. Don’t even think of apologizing.”

                Optimus’ mouth snapped back shut. He had just been about to do that very thing and wondered how Jazz had known.

                “It was worth it all in the end. I was punished, but you were still proud of me for not overloading and were happy with how I cleaned the floor. I nearly came on the spot both times,” Jazz confessed. His hips twitched as if in remembrance, semi-erect spike rubbing against Optimus’ lower belly.

                “You _did_ do well,” Optimus murmured, his hand sliding down to caress his partner’s aft. “I don’t think I would have been able to last a whole hour on the edge like that.”

                Jazz’s hips tilted up into Optimus’ hand, and he ex-vented a shaky puff of air. “I really liked it when you took me by the throat as well.”

                “You mean like this?” Optimus asked, his other hand coming up and carefully encircling Jazz’s neck, thumb gently stroking the hollow of his throat. He barely used any pressure at all as he squeezed, but the saboteur’s visor flickered madly in response.

                Jazz moaned, his fingers curling under and clutching at Optimus’ chest. Optimus stretched his other arm further down, hand sliding between the back of Jazz’s thighs and fingers brushing the dampness at the apex.

                “What else did you like?” Optimus whispered, entranced by the tortured expression on Jazz’s faceplates as he toyed with the rim of Jazz’s valve.

                “When you… nngh… shoved me… Primus, _tighter_!” Jazz gasped, pulling against Optimus’ hold on his throat. Optimus tightened his grip at the same time he slipped one fingertip into that wildly rippling port entrance. Jazz was obviously still very much revved up.

                Well. It was ‘later’ now.

                “So you enjoyed me directing you via my hold on your neck?” Optimus purred. Jazz jerked in place, trying to thrust backwards onto the finger, but Optimus’ grip prevented him from going too far.

                “Yes! Gaah… Primus, Opt, please!” Jazz begged, legs slipping off Optimus’ and knees clamping down around blue and red hips. His pelvis tilted up, pleading wordlessly.

                “Well… you _did_ complete your tasks to my satisfaction,” Optimus remarked idly and removed the one finger in order to plunge three into Jazz’s messy valve. The angle was bad and he could only go so far as the second knuckle, but it seemed good enough for Jazz.

                He cried out wordlessly, trembling. One of his hands rose up and encircled Optimus’ wrist. “Tighter,” Jazz rasped out, hips undulating wildly.

                Caught up in the moment, Optimus _squeezed_ , the fingers of his other hand withdrawing and then roughly thrusting back into Jazz’s valve. The saboteur wailed out Optimus’ name, the sound high pitched and thin as it emerged from a compressed vocalizer. Another thrust of Optimus’ fingers had Jazz freezing above him before abruptly overloading, his valve clamping down tightly around Optimus’ digits with a gush of lubricant. A jerk of Jazz’s hips and Optimus felt a burst of warmth against his lower belly.

                Jazz’s cry turned into a low, satisfied moan as he sagged atop Optimus, valve relaxing enough for Optimus to continue pumping it, prompting little shivers to race down Jazz’s back on every thrust in. A rattle in the back of Jazz’s intake made Optimus hastily release his grip on his lover’s throat, surprised by the ache in his hand. Had he really been holding on that tightly? He was a little surprised he hadn’t crushed Jazz’s neck components.

                “Are you all right?” Optimus asked, trying to examine Jazz’s throat, but as soon as Optimus released him, Jazz immediately dropped his head to rest his forehelm against Optimus’ chest.

                “Frag,” Jazz whispered, panting. “I’m _so_ all right.”

                His voice sounded relatively normal, and Optimus relaxed slightly. He made to completely remove his fingers from Jazz’s valve, but Jazz’s hand flew behind him and clamped down on Optimus’ forearm.

                “Stay. Please.”

                “Certainly,” Optimus replied. “Slide up a bit more?”

                Jazz laboriously squirmed further up Optimus’s body, finally settling his face against Optimus’ throat with a sigh. Now Optimus’ arm could rest more comfortably along the entirety of Jazz’s back, and he was able to push his fingers a little deeper into Jazz’s valve. Optimus remembered the saboteur was fond of shutting down with his port full and resigned himself to washing up at a later time. Another shower was definitely in order.

                “That was great,” Jazz murmured, exventing against the underside of Optimus’ jaw. He squeezed his thighs together, effectively trapping Optimus’ wrist between them. “Needed that more ‘n I thought.”

                “I am not surprised. Do you remember how I left you with a vibrator in your valve for over an hour?” Optimus asked, amused.

                Jazz shuddered. “Trust me, I ‘member.”

                “Would you like to repeat this scenario again?” Optimus inquired. He wouldn’t be completely adverse to it, depending on the level of roughness Jazz asked for.

                “Mmm.” Jazz’s answer was a sleepy mumble.

                “Jazz?” Optimus gently jostled the mech sprawled across him, but all he got in return was another wordless grumble and a raspy snore from the back of the saboteur’s intake.

                “I guess we’ll continue our discussion later then,” Optimus said, fondly stroking the back of Jazz’s helm. Hopefully it would be enough for Jazz when he awoke from his post session stupor. All in all, a success for their second venture.

                Optimus experimentally wiggled the fingers trapped in the moist heat between Jazz’s legs. No response.

                Now. Time to carefully extricate himself and flush the lubricant from the interior workings of his hand. Explaining to Ratchet why his digit joints were seizing up was _not_ Optimus’ idea of a good time. 

 

~ End        

**Author's Note:**

> This was kind of a quick write with a few less edits than I normally do - trying out a new process. On top of that, the whole thing fought me from word one. So let me know if you spot any glaring mistakes.


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